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A single black speck stood out against the icy white tundra. An enternal storm raged on, burying the trees and the rotted soil in heavy piles of snow, lighting up the sky even without the light of the sun as she hid behind thick clouds, and painting the whole world a pearly crystal white that stretched far as the eye could see.
But for the speck.
Damp, and folded in on itself, it dug its spindly snout into the powdery snow, as if to seek some hidden warmth buried deep below the snow pack.
Through the mist and fog and dancing ice crystals, another anomaly approached. A great and majestic beast, with graceful long legs, and a snow covered coat of rich creams and caramels, and eyes of hollow black. Huge and treacherous branches balanced atop the beast's head, which did not sway even in the face of the storm’s cruel winds.
The stag bent down and nudged the poorly creature, who had stopped shaking from the cold as it drifted nearer to a frozen death.
The creature wined as the stag pushed it to its feet. The stag knew of this creature: not unlike the great and terrible wolves who lurked in the forest, but this creature was far less mighty, a rail thin figure, elongated ears that could not hold themselves upright and flopped downward, curly and clumping fur where it had been soaked through.
A dog.
The dog glared at the stag through silvery eyes, as though it had simply been enjoying a nice nap and was rather inconvenienced by the disturbance.
But the storm was no place for any nap one wished to wake from.
The stag turned away from the dog and began walking in the other direction, leaving the dog to choose to follow, or resign to a frozen slumber.
The dog followed.
…
The soft crackle of a blooming fire pulled the dog from his sleep. No, not a dog, not anymore. Sirius stretched his fingertips, stiff joints of a man popping as he shifted against the hard surface beneath him. He opened his eyes to find himself wrapped in a quilted blanket, warm, but far too thin to soften the cold hardwood floor below.
The house was not quite familiar. Not quite a house, either. Rather a small wooden cabin, walls made of smooth logs that reminded Sirius of something out of a story he'd once read. At least, he thought it had been a story.
As the fog of sleep faded, Sirius’ memory began to thaw. He remembered the storm, and the magnificent buck, and then somewhere warm and safe, which must have been this very blanket in front of the fire on which he’d fallen asleep.
“Oh good! You're awake.” Sirius pulled himself upright at the sound of a rich cheerful voice. A man stood in front of a small stove top, only steps away from Sirius. He was tall. Or at least he seemed that way from Sirius’ vantage on the floor. He had dark ochre skin and a bundle of black curls that spilled out beneath a red knit cap. He was smiling with the sort of unrestrained grin Sirius had always been cautioned against bearing in polite company, pearly white teeth glinting as his cheeks knocked up into wire frame glasses. “You slept all through the night, I thought you might be, you know...” The man grimaced and crudely drew his fingers across his neck.
“Where am I?” Sirius asked, the man turned back to his stove top and continued fiddling about with different pots and spoons, seeming fantastically unbothered by Sirius’ presence.
“My cabin.” Well yes, that was rather obvious. Sirius supposed it was at least better than being someone else’s cabin, one with which they were both trespassing in.
“Who are you?”
The man picked up a kettle and began pouring hot water over another pot, filling the small room with smell of rich chocolate and spice. “You don’t remember me?” He asked.
Sirius squinted at him, as though it would do any good. Admittedly, there was something deeply familiar about him. The sharp profile, and the curve of his nose as he glanced over his shoulder at Sirius evoked an odd sense of recollection. His face was not plain, yet something about the unevenness to his smile, and the divots it built in his cheeks, were strangely recognizable. Like someone Sirius had passed on the street daily but never spoke to, or a childhood friend long since grown up and forgotten.
“Should I?” Sirius asked.
The man picked up a cup and saucer and brought it around to Sirius. “Well, I do suppose you were in quite a state at the time, I’m James, here, drink this.”
He- James, wasted no time shoving the cup into Sirius’ hands. It was nothing like the fine china tea sets he’d grown accustomed to. It was made of thick, unbleached terracotta, trimmed with crimson red paint and a white polka dots. Inside the cup, sat a thick piling of cream that was beginning to melt into the hot liquid.
“What is it?”
“Drinking chocolate. Works miracles.” There were many stories that cautioned against taking food from strangers in their strange homes. Tales of young maidens falling into endless sleep, or becoming trapped, cursed to never leave. And… less fantastical stories, about untrustworthy men and all the things they could slip into your drink. Still, it was terribly rude to reject a refreshment from one’s host. Sirius took the drinking chocolate.
“Don’t worry, ‘haven’t poisoned it.” James added, grinning that mad grin again, which did little to inspire confidence. Then again, if it were poisoned, Sirius could hardly find the strength to mind.
The melting cream was thick and sweet as pastry filling, frothy where it had melted into the chocolate, which was itself rich and viscous, unlike any of the watery teas and coffees he’d grown used to. Sirius took another sip, inhaling deeper even as cream stuck to his nose and upper lip, trying to get at the liquid chocolate beneath. The molten heat scalded his tongue and he recoiled.
“Careful.” Said James, “It’s still hot.”
Sirius ignored his burning tongue, finding himself famished, he gulped down the rest of the chocolate, licking away the lingering cream from his lips. The other man’s smile had turned to one of bemusement, and Sirius couldn’t help but hide his gaze away at the shame of such an indignant display.
“Ah- thank you.” Sirius said, mostly to the quilt still in his lap.
“You’re welcome. I’m working on getting you a proper meal, the storm tends to burn through everything.” Sirius could hardly think of the last thing he ate. A bowl of soup broth forced upon him before the oncoming ceremony, which had undoubtedly come and gone without him by now. He had quickly lost track of time after fleeing into the storm; it might have been days, or even weeks since his last true meal. And now that James had mentioned it, he could think only of his aching stomach.
James gave Sirius a seat at the small, wooden table next to the door. There was only one chair, which was just as well since the table was only big enough for a single plate. James granted him one, piled with slices of thick seeded bread, chunks of a young cheese, sweet blueberry jam, and several thick slices of sugar cured ham. James didn’t seem to take any ire to his unexpected house guest, tending to Sirius with a chipper tone that unsettled Sirius.
“So, do you have a name?” James asked, only once Sirius had finished picking his plate clean.
“Yes.” Sirius answered but didn’t not elaborate. Before, he would've been scolded for saying something so ‘smart’ and impolite.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t like. I’ll just go on calling you Padfoot.” James grinned, as though that was a perfectly acceptable name.
“Padfoot?”
James nodded. “That’s what I’ve been calling you in my head.”
“Why?”
“Hardly any footprints.” James answered. “In the snow, I thought it might just be your small stature but I see it’s just you, you walk as though there’s a layer of air between you and the ground.” It was true that Sirius had long ago learned how to tread lightly: perfect posture, perfectly silent, good for sneaking through aging hallways unnoticed.
“Sirius.”
James smiled and stuck out his hand, calloused palm extended outward. “Pleasure to meet you Sirius.”
James allowed Sirius the use of his washroom, which seemed to be the only other room in the small cabin, insisting Sirius warm himself in the bath as long as it took for his appendages to regain feeling.
The bath was rather curious. Sirius must have spent upwards of an hour in the tub trying to release his frigid muscles and yet the water never went cold. When he finished, he found a fresh set of clothes in exactly his size folded neatly on the ledge of the sink. The small mirror thar hung above the sink was coated in fog, obscuring Sirius’ reflection. But he could imagine the brittle blue of his frozen lips, the long gash along his forehead from when he had stumbled in the snow, the bruising beneath his eyes. He wiped the fog away but the steam worked quickly to replace it before he could fully glimpse his battered form.
“You’ll have to stay ‘till morning I’m afraid.” James told Sirius when he’d finished recovering sensation in his toes. “It’s impossible to navigate through the storm on your own and I have to leave for work. I won’t be back until dawn, so I won’t be able to guide you until tomorrow.”
“That’s alright.” Sirius said, there wasn’t a place in particular that he had been going, rather more distinctly a place he was leaving. He was in no hurry to get much of anywhere, and the thought of journeying back into the storm so soon left him shivering with apprehension. Having the night was a relief.
“What were you doing out in that storm anyway?” James asked, Sirius’ stomach clenched. His memories had already begun to fade. Overtaken and washed out by the raging blizzard.
But he remembered a dead tree set ablaze, the strings of holly wrapping around the staircase, and the smell of burnt sugar and butchered meat in preparation for the oncoming celebration. He remembered the gathering of curious strangers, his mothers's stone grip on his shoulder, and the overbearing wash of dread and panic.
And then, the storm. Running and running until he fell to four legs, sprinting through the ice and snow into the all engulfing white landscape until there was no north or south, no up or down, until the snow white sky bled into the frost covered ground, until his paws grew numb and the wind grew harsher, slowing him until he could barely take a single step.
He’d expected the end of it, truely. Lost to a body that was not his own, in a world devoid of direction or color, Sirius expected he was running onwards straight into death.
“Ah- never mind, you don’t have to tell me.” James decided, evidently regretting the intruding question. “When I get back from the job I’ll take you anywhere you’d like to go.”
“We’re not near a village.” Sirius said plainly. How on earth could one have a job so far away from any civilization? Sirius had fled northward into the frozen abyss, where there were no people or roads to bring them by.
“No. My work requires travel. It's a delivery service.” Delivery of what? Snow? Still, Sirius couldn't imagine James could make it much of anywhere and back in a single night.
“But you’ll be back by tomorrow?”
“Yes.” James answered but did not elaborate.
True to his word, James left by nightfall, offering Sirius the single mattress shoved in the corner of the room, opposite the ‘kitchen’. It was hardly more comfortable than the floor, but Sirius quickly slipped into a deep sleep nonetheless. He did not wake until the next morning at the sound of the door creaking open.
Ice and snow gushed into the house, biting and snapping at his skin. Outside, the storm continued to rage, air so thick with snow that only the silhouette of two great antlers could be made out through the snow and fog. The deer’s shadow disappeared and in walked a snow dusted James. He scampered to shut the door behind him, shooing away the snow and frost.
“Oh hullo!” James startled at the sight of Sirius. “Nearly forgot about you.”
“Sorry.” Sirius said quickly, feeling suddenly horrible for overstaying his welcome.
“No no, don’t be. I’m stupid when I’m tired, rather long night.” James furrowed his brows and clasped his coat pockets, before digging out a single orange. “Here, got this for you.” He said and tossed it to Sirius, before pulling out a second orange. James plopped down in one of the chairs at the wooden table. Sirius could have sworn there had only been a single chair the night before.
They peeled their oranges in silence, Sirius couldn’t help but relish in the sweet citrus. Oranges were hard to come by in the winter, even for his family with their affinity for rare and expensive imports. Coming across a ripe orange in the winter was near miraculous.
“It seems rather wretched that you should be made to work through the night.” Sirius said, hoping James would take the invitation to divulge in the details of his mysterious occupation.
“It’s not so bad. It’s only one night a year.” James explained, which did little to shed light on the mystery. “And the boss pays me in biscuits, so-” James grinned, and- Sirius had always thought himself good at reading others, but he couldn’t for the life of him determine if James was joking. Judging by the smirk tugging at the edge of James’ mouth and the absurdity of the claim he must have been.
“I have a… uh- unusual employer.” Or perhaps not.
James chuckled, evolving into an indecent yawn.
“Oh!” Sirius jumped up. “I’m terribly sorry, you’re absolutely exhausted and here I am hogging up your bed.”
“No it’s alright, though I do think- I should probably rest a while.” James said through a second yawn.
Sirius made himself scarce as James curled into the bed, grinning stupidly. “I really should be thanking you, kept it warm for me.”
Sirius was unfamiliar with interacting with someone of such good nature and turned quickly to steel himself from James’ joyful gaze, resigning himself to the table.
“I’ll just rest an hour or so, then I’ll guide you home like I promised.” James bundled himself beneath the blanket.
Except, Sirius couldn’t go home. Or wouldn’t, it didn’t matter which. And he didn’t have much of anywhere to go, he’d need to think of something before James woke back up.
“Or-“ James continued. “If you’re not ready, you’re welcome to stay here, as long as you like.” He offered, before fading quickly into a deep sleep.
Sirius stayed.
The whole fourteen hours that James slept, and then the next day. And the next. Days bleeding into weeks.
As far as Sirius could see, the tundra was desolate but for James’ cabin, which he learned belonged to his father before him. (“Papa was a salesman, but he grew tired of selling over priced petroleum jelly to unsuspecting housewives looking to tame their luxurious locks, so, one day, he sold it all, he and my ma took an ax and their broomsticks and went north until there was nothing as far as the eye could see, stopped in this very spot and built this cottage”) Yet, they never seemed in need of anything. The water was always piping hot, and the cabinets stocked with impossible foods, like fresh cream and exotic spices. It seemed whenever Sirius turned his back, he’d return to the sizzling of fried eggs, though he’d never so much as seen an eggshell. The small bookshelf was home to an eclectic collection of books, and every so often, a new one would appear that Sirius swore he’d never seen before. James however, seemed completely unphased by their spontaneous appearance, just as he was unphased by the holes in Sirius’ coat that seemed to patch themselves closed all on their own. Behind the cottage, was a garden where flowers bloomed straight out of the snow, seeming completely unbothered by the frozen dew that clung to their petals.
As the months passed, the days grew longer and though the storm never quite subsided, it grew lighter, and the blue of the sky grew brighter, sun sparkling down on the distant trees.
The stag taught the dog all about the tundra. Sirius was apprehensive the first time, he’d never given over to the dog on purpose before. Before, the dog only ever appeared on accident, when he was scared or in danger or having a particularly fitful dream. A warning, one he had heard whispered in his ear since he had been a young child ran down his spine: the dog was of the devil, a spirit that would steal his humanity and leave him nothing more than a common street mutt if he indulged it.
But the warm comfort of the dog came easily to Sirius amongst the snow banks. Perhaps the bone chilling winds of the exposed valley brought it out of him. Giving over to the dog was as easy as seeking shelter beneath the warmth of James’ tattered quilt. Sirius allowed the stag to teach the dog how to navigate through the ice and snow. How to track directions in the dark and sniff out a warm hot meal among the frozen wasteland. And the stag taught him how to find the edge of the forest, but to never enter.
The forest was beyond their world.
“Do you ever get lonely? Out here alone?” Sirius asked one afternoon, over a shared pot of rich beef and parsnip stew. The days had grown long and come back the other side, sun shrinking back into its hiding spot.
“Nah.” James ripped apart a piece of the bread Sirius had baked the day before, he was becoming nearly as skilled as James at the craft. “I have plenty friends.”
Sirius perched an eyebrow. “Oh really, like who?”
“Well there’s the big guy.” James patted his belly.
“Your employer?” James nodded. “That doesn't count.”
“Fine, Peter then.”
“The rat?!” Sirius had become acquainted with Peter two weeks into his stay, by way of finding a trail of the small ‘gifts’ the rat had left behind across the kitchen floor while Sirius and James slept. James was entirely unconcerned, convinced that the rat who had decided to stowaway in James’ cottage was nothing to be concerned about, a welcome guest, in fact.
“Peter’s an excellent friend, you just don’t like him because that time he bit your toe.”
True, Sirius had once woken to something nibbling at his pinky toe beneath the blanket, he’d refused to sleep in the bed for three days afterwards. “He’s obsessed with my feet or something, and a rat.”
James pointed his bent spoon at Sirius. “Are you not a dog, dear Padfoot?”
“It’s not the same!” As far as Sirius could tell, Peter was only a rat.
“Fine, whatever, there’s also my many friends in the forest.” More talking animals then.
“I thought you didn't go into the forest?”
James shook his head. “No, I told you not to go into the forest.”
“Why?” It’s not as though the dog was scared of spiders, or whatever else lurked beneath the cover of trees.
“Because, you’re like the wolves, if you went in, you’d never come out.”
“I’m not a wolf.” Sirius often heard them howling in the night, and he couldn’t deny the instinct it drew from him: to join them in song and in kinship. But that was besides the point. Sirius had no interest in living in the forest amongst the animals. He rather liked the comfort of James’ warm cabin, and his warm bed, and his lovely stews. None of which could be found in the forest.
“No, you’re not. But they’re all like you, they believe they can walk in both worlds, try to keep a foot in both, but eventually, you all go home to the forest.” James sounded wistful, not quite sad, but perhaps resigned. Like it had already been decided.
“You think I’ll leave you?”
James bit his lower lip. “Eventually everyone does.”
But James was wrong. Sirius would never leave.
The year came full circle. Then a second. By the third year, Sirius had grown accustomed to James’ disappearance on the darkest night of the year. He always returned with a ripe orange and tales of far off places that Sirius had only ever imagined.
“Do you ever think about going back?” Sirius asked, fire tickling his cheeks as James ran a hand through his hair, breaking apart the tangles that had formed. The bed had steadily grown since Sirius’ first night, one of the many mysteries of the cabin. It was now plenty big for the two of them.
“I do go back, literally last night, did you forget already?” James tugged at his earlobe.
Sirius rolled his eyes. “Not like that, like, permanently.”
“What would you suppose I do? Dawn a suit and live a life of drab monotony?” James scoffed, the rumble in his chest shaking Sirius.
“You wouldn’t have to do that, you could be an artist, or a sailor.” James was a fine artist. Sirius had spent many hours admiring him while he worked at the pottery wheel, crafting bits and bobs from blank slabs of wet mush.
“A sailor?”
“I think you’d be a fine sailor, you’re excellent at navigating.”
“The stars, not the sea.” James dragged his nails across the side of Sirius’ cheek, through the coarse hair that had grown thick since he’d first come in from the storm.
“That’s how the sailors do it too.” Sirius said, he didn’t really know.
“Do you think of it? Going home?” Sirius did think of it, all the time. He thought of the nights he spent as a boy, fantasizing about going out on the world on his own, making a name for himself separate from the one he was given. He thought about the pieces of his flesh he left behind, pieces he thought he hated, pieces he hated how much he missed. He thought about the tinsel getting draped across the mantel and the smell of spiced rum, which, admittedly did taste horrible, but it was easy to recall a fondness for it with so many years of distance.
“Never.” Sirius said instead.
The fifth winter in the cabin, Sirius couldn’t sleep in James’ absence. He spent the night prodding the crackling fire with a large metal stick and watching the sparks dance through the air, they made the same patterns as falling snow. He tried his hand at one of the ever changing books and talked with Peter as he scurried across the hardwood.
“You’re not dead yet?” Sirius had near forgotten about the rat, half expecting it had met an end within the crevices of the wall years ago.
“Neither are you.”
“Yes well, I’m not a rat.” Sirius insisted.
“Neither am I.”
Sirius stared at the rodent, its beady black eyes seemed to look right past Sirius. Sirius waited, scrutinizing the rat, it was just a rat after all, wasn’t it?
Peter wiggled his nose and dashed away.
Sirius spent the rest of the night as the dog. Curled up near the door as the wolves howled in the distance. Were they calling for help? What would happen if he called back?
More years passed. The dog and the stag spent their days exploring the icy tundra and playing in the snow. Sirius and James spent their days bickering by the fire and ice fishing above a frozen lake. Nights were spent huddled together beneath the quilted blanket.
Sirius was already awake when James returned in the morning. He finished scooping a fat dollop of cream on top of a warm cup of drinking chocolate the very moment James stepped through the door.
“Welcome back.” Sirius pushed the cup into James’ hands.
“You’re up already?” James accepted the drink and sipped it feebly, succeeding only in covering his face in thick cream. His eyebrows knit together, grazing against his glasses. He looked so adorably angry that Sirius couldn’t help but laugh as he wiped James’ face clean.
“Can never sleep when you’re gone.” James’ frown deepened.
“I brought you something.” Over the years, James’ offering of a single orange had grown. He brought back Sirius all sorts of knick knacks and assorted delicacies. Sirius suspected that James felt some sort of guilt about leaving Sirius, even if only for one night. But Sirius was unbothered, his interest in the world of men had faded long ago, along with his memories of before. He knew, intellectually, that there had been a time before James, and the stag, and the cabin. A world beyond their icy oasis. But he could not recall it, nor did he care to.
“Happy Christmas, Pads.” James dug through his coat pocket and presented Sirius with a delicate silver clamshell mirror, but Sirius refused to open it; he'd grown uninterested in whatever he might find in its reflection.
…
The stag and dog left the cabin and walked out into the blizzard. The dog no longer needed to follow behind the stag to know the way. Instead, the stag allowed the dog to lead as they crossed the snowy hills. The journey was one the dog had taken many times, though no path had ever formed, wiped clean by the ever shifting blanket of snow.
They came across a scattering of trees, growing more thick as they journeyed onward. The stag rubbed against the dog in warning, but the dog kept on. The trees grew denser, blocking out the snow and leaving patches of frozen dirt exposed. Once again, the stag warned the dog, nodding at the ground, where the dog’s prints had begun to stick. The dog nuzzled his snout into the stag’s pillowy mane. The storm had receded.
And the dog walked on, deeper into the forest.